


nevertheless, coffee

by dami_an



Series: nevertheless [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 11:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10386105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dami_an/pseuds/dami_an
Summary: In which Akaashi finds an assassin in his apartment.





	

Akaashi has seen many surprises before; like Kenma is actually a pansexual, which he unintentionally found out from another person, and Tsukishima has been dating his senior for three years behind his back. While the news of Tsukishima in a romantic relationship is a surprise itself, it isn't surprising why he keeps it from him and Hinata.

But everything dulls in comparison to having an assassin in his dark apartment.

Maybe he's seeing things due to exhaustion from frequent travel for nice views and photos, but even his tired mind can recognize that sniper rifle perched on his windowsill just fine.

So, yes. An assassin. In his apartment. How is this his life. 

"Uhm," the assassin starts, cocking his head to the side. Aided by the light spilling from the window, Akaashi notices the black streaks in with his white-gray hair.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Akaashi asks cautiously, worried if the assassin decides to kill him. He adjusts the strap of his bag camera, wary of the assassin.

"What I'm doing here—ah, yes, that!" He perks up at that. "I'm using your place as a sniper nest since my intel said that you're not meant to be back until… next week."

"Yet here I am."

"Here you are," the assassin says in wonderment. A grin lights up his face. "Well, this is awkward."

"Yeah," Akaashi agrees. For all it is mildly alarming it's awkward too like the assassin claimed. It's probably not a wise decision to call for help. No one knows what the assassin is capable of. "Are you on a mission right now?"

"Yep."

"So… you can't leave until you complete your mission."

"Yep," the assassin chirps again and then deflates. "Uh, yeah, sorry."

"Alright," Akaashi sighs, resignedly, feeling an incoming headache. "Alright. Just, uh, do you mind if I switch on the light? It's dark in here."

"Yes—uh, I mean, no. This is your place. Feel free to do so."

When the room is bathed in bright light, he finally has a proper view of the assassin; spiky hair in monochrome shades, solid build, a pair of golden-colored eyes and definitely a few inches taller than him.

"Hullo, Host-kun," the assassin grins, seemingly unabashed by the fact that he broke into an apartment and now is talking to its owner. "I'm sure you've got a lot of questions right now."

"Quite a lot."

"Shoot."

Akaashi hums thoughtfully. He needs a clearer mind for this shit, so he begins with, "Coffee?"

 

 

 

 

 

From their brief conversation, Akaashi learns two major things about the assassin; one, he's actually a Japanese, which is the only useful information Akaashi managed to extricate from him, and two, he's… expressive. Extremely expressive. He speaks with his entire body. It's as though Akaashi is listening to an adventure tale even though the assassin is simply talking about the weather.

Not one to beat around the bush, Akaashi peers out of the window, with a mug of coffee cradled in his hands, and asks, "So a bad guy lives there?"

"Yep, been chasing his ass for months," the assassin answers, taking a sip of his coffee. Then amazement passes over his face before it melts into happiness, eyes sparkling and all. "Whoa~ your coffee tastes so good. Is it brewed?"

Akaashi blinks. "Ah, yes."

"Wow, you know how to make brewed coffee? That's awesome!"

"That's because my ex-girlfriend likes coffee and I—" A thought hits Akaashi and he stops himself. Having an assassin lurking in his apartment is already bad enough, giving out any private information is utterly foolish. "Which agency are you working for? CIA? M16?"

"That, Host-kun." He looks into Akaashi's eyes, with a smile that promises a painful future shall he cross the line. "Is classified."

Akaashi knows better to stop after that.

 

 

 

 

 

Akaashi watches wearily as the assassin adjusts himself on the couch, hands folded under his head. He sighs, "You sure you're okay with that?"

"Sleeping on the couch? Don't worry, I've had worse."

"Where's your blanket?"

"No blanket."

"Why didn't you take one from my room?"

The assassin gives him a look. "You weren't here. Technically speaking, that's stealing."

"You broke into my apartment to snipe but you wouldn't steal. Funny how your morality works," Akaashi grumbles, goes to his bedroom, and returns with an extra blanket. "Here."

He blinks owlishly. "Oh. Thanks, Host-kun."

"Akaashi."

"Huh?"

"Akaashi Keiji, that's my name. Not Host-kun," Akaashi tells him, in the hope of catching the assassin's name as well.

The assassin grins, "Good night, Host-kun," and says no more.

 

 

 

 

 

Morning finds Akaashi startled by an appearance of a stranger standing over by the window, eyes on the room across from his block. Then he recounts the whole thing; _assassin_ and _mission_ , and calms down but never lowers his guard down.

"Hey, hey, hey! Good morning, Host-kun!" the assassin greets, his loud voice rippling across the living room once he caught Akaashi from the corner of his eye. He bounds over to Akaashi. "I was wondering when you're going to wake up. I need coffee! Coffee, coffee! Without coffee, I can't see shit."

Akaashi instinctively leans away when the assassin gets too close. "I can see your eyes open just fine."

"But I need coffee!"

"Make it yourself."

"I'm banned from touching anything but microwave," he says, and much to Akaashi's annoyance, the assassin sticks his tongue out and rubs the back of his head to look what he believes is innocent. It's anything but.

Akaashi sighs, "How did even you survive by far?"

"Take-outs. Instant food. Ah, instant coffee is a godsend," the assassin chirps. Then his expression changes from excited to disgust, "There's military food for emergency too, but it tastes like shit. Yuck."

"That's tragic."

The jab is lost on the assassin, "It is! So, would you grace my day with that awesome coffee of yours?"

Akaashi knows he shouldn't be staring into his eyes but for some reason, he can't tear his gaze away. Those golden-colored eyes are sparkling, full of hope, and the longer he stares into those eyes the more his resolution melts.

"Fine," Akaashi acquiesces, with a heavy heart.

The assassin whoops happily.

 

 

 

 

 

"How long have you been here?" Akaashi asks when they're having lunch prepared by him since the assassin had been telling him the truth—he's totally hopeless in the kitchen.

"Long enough to know that you graduated in engineering but changed to photography as your career," he answers around a mouthful of meatball, without taking his eyes away from the movie.

A wistful hum escapes Akaashi because digging out old evidence from his university life buried in a mountain of boxes in the spare room would take anyone more than one week. Akaashi should be alerted to the fact that the assassin snooped around, but he's not.

He wonders why, though.

 

 

 

 

 

A whistle from his right side has Akaashi snapping his head up, only to find the assassin standing behind the couch and watching over his shoulder at the laptop screen. He has a mesmerizing look on when he says, "That's one hella nice picture you've got there."

"Thanks. Nothing can be compared to the real thing, though. The view was beautiful," Akaashi offers mindlessly, with a small smile, absorbed in the picture as well. He remembers he had to climb uphill for hours to see the view. His muscles and joints ache at the memory.

"Have you been to their shrine?" the assassin asks, and Akaashi shakes his head. He continues, "The morning view is awesome. You can see the whole village from there. It's like watching a sleepy place slowly waking up. Refreshing."

"You been there?"

"Once. The monks let me crash there on a condition that I must wake up early. Totally worth it, though. They showed me a few interesting places too," he grins a mile wide, "Ah, maybe they'd show you around if I told them about you."

His small smile doesn't show much, but his heart feels warmer all the same. "That'd be great."

 

 

 

_you around? – Tsukishima_

_home? yeah – Akaashi_

_mind if i crash at your place? hinata and his majesty are at it again – Tsukishima_

_got a relative bunking over, sorry – Akaashi_

_bugger – Tsukishima_

 

Akaashi doesn't text back. Instead, he continues making dinner, aware of the assassin fluttering about the kitchen.

 

 

 

 

 

On Wednesday, Akaashi decides to do grocery shopping since the current stock isn't enough to cater for two. In the doorway, he asks, just to be polite, "I'm going out for a while. You need anything?"

The assassin draws his attention away from his phone to holler, "Mint flavored ice-cream!" and goes back to jabbing his thumb on the phone screen.

It's a want, not a need, but Akaashi nods, anyway, "Alright."

 

The local shop he frequents has no stock of mint flavored ice-cream, so he takes a longer route home to swing by the supermarket. The price is higher there, but Akaashi sweeps it into the basket nonetheless, along with a bottle of chocolate syrup.

Later, the assassin doesn't stop gushing about the wonderful taste of the mint flavored ice-cream with chocolate syrup on top. He's loud and makes a mess on the table, but looking at his excited face, Akaashi thinks it's a great investment regardless.

 

 

 

 

 

"Hey, hey, hey, Host-kun~!" is all the warning Akaashi gets before the assassin suddenly drops into the couch, facing him.

"It's Akaashi, not Host-kun."

"Whoa, your camera looks so cool," the assassin coos, scooting closer until their knees meet. Another quality Akaashi discovered about him apart from his insistence on calling him 'Host-kun', is that the assassin has no concept of privacy bubble at all.

"Thanks."

"Teach me how to use it," he says.

Akaashi could tell him no since he's under no obligation to teach him anything. By the way the assassin carries his bubbly self, he'd probably break the camera.

Akaashi doesn't tell him no. He places the camera in the assassin's hands and tells him the function for each button, "This one controls the lens. This one is for the temperature. You can control the shutter speed in the setting, and the other one is—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he cuts Akaashi off. "I think my brain just exploded. Summary, please."

Akaashi regards him warily but concedes anyway. "Automatic, then. All you have to do is press this button. Like this—"

And when Akaashi aims the lens at him, the assassin quickly covers it with his palm. Akaashi raises a brow. The assassin beams, "No. Not me."

"Wha—"

Without a word, he snatches the camera from Akaashi's hold. Akaashi barely processes everything, stunned at the quick reflex, when the sound of the shutter snapping shut is heard. The assassin checks the picture, and with an impressed whistle, he comments, "Nice expression, Host-kun."

Realization sinks in, and Akaashi reaches out for the camera but to no avail. Despite his half-hearted protests (maybe it's because of that), the assassin continues taking his pictures, lots and lots of them that by the end of the day, Akaashi thinks the memory card is full of his blurry pictures.

 

 

 

 

 

He doesn't delete them.

 

 

 

 

 

"Here." Akaashi places a bowl of popcorn in the assassin's lap. Then he takes a seat on the couch as well, ready for the movie.

He beams radiantly and then scoots closer so their shoulders are pressed together. Akaashi thinks the assassin just wants to share the popcorn but is aware of his racing heart nonetheless.

When the credits finally roll on, Akaashi has a lapful of a sobbing mess assassin. Akaashi simply rubs his back to soothe him as he keeps sobbing out, "The dog died, whyyyyy?" into Akaashi's shoulder until sleep claims him, and then Akaashi finally sees the issue.

He has a lapful of a sleeping assassin and his heart is going a mile a minute.

Why is this his life. 

But he doesn't remove himself in favor of not disturbing his sleep. Too aware of their physical contact, Akaashi hasn't realized he's falling asleep, and only wakes up to a blanket draped over him in the morning later and the sound from the bathroom.

Akaashi gets up and starts his day like nothing's happened. His joints ache from sleeping on the couch. Akaashi doesn't talk about it.

 

 

 

 

 

They don't talk about it.

 

 

 

 

 

Thursday rolls around, and Akaashi spends the day hanging out with his friends. It was Hinata's suggestion since Tsukishima finally has a day off.

Hinata is being his bubbly self. Meanwhile, Tsukishima pretends to disapprove everything, just to rile Hinata up. Kenma and his PSP are completely in another world that no one can reach out but Hinata.

It's fun even though sometimes he gets distracted by the thought of the assassin at home. Akaashi wonders if he's eaten, and buys two large boxes of sushi just to be safe.

Before they part ways, Kenma tells him, almost inaudible, "You look happier," and leaves.

Akaashi blinks at Kenma's retreating back.

 

He's welcomed warmly by the assassin by the time he gets home. The broad grin when he catches sight of the boxes Akaashi is carrying is priceless and makes Akaashi want to capture it in a photo.

 

 

 

 

 

Friday morning comes, and the assassin seems different, Akaashi observes. He still talks to him, but most of his replies are short answers, bordering on incoherent mumbles, created to simply fill the room with some noise. By the sharp glare he zeroes in on the targeted room, a floor down across from his block, Akaashi can tell something is bothering the assassin.

"Here," Akaashi passes a mug of coffee over the assassin's shoulder from behind.

Whether he feels obligated to make the assassin one since he's having it, or he simply wants to gauge a boisterous reaction from him, Akaashi doesn't want to look closely at it. Either way, it doesn't work because all he gets is a mumble of thank you.

Living alone for the past few months after his relationship ended has taught Akaashi many things—getting used to this quiet atmosphere is one of them. He doesn't mind the silence since it suits his quiet personality just fine.

But watching him like this, so silent and deadly… is quite disturbing.

Worried, Akaashi sidles up closer to follow the assassin's line of sight, "Is something—"

Before he can even finish his words, the assassin has made a grab of his wrist and turned him around, and Akaashi is sandwiched between the hard plane of the assassin's body and the window. Their close proximity lodges a lump in his throat, and Akaashi is struggling to breathe.

Up close and in bright light coming from the window, Akaashi can see those black pupils turning slits. It makes the golden-colored irises more prominent than ever—more enticing. But as enticing as they are, they look as deadly as well. Akaashi feels like he's a prey in those eyes.

The fingers running up his neck to his jawline intensifies that feeling tenfold, and Akaashi remembers that the assassin is more than capable of killing him. His heart is thundering in his chest. Is this how he's going to die?

Akaashi stares, apprehension a big black hole in his stomach, sucking and twisting as the assassin bends down and—

—gives a light slap on his cheek with a playful grin, "Nothing interesting, really."

Akaashi blinks once, and then twice when his brain fails him.

The assassin releases him, and in that process, he notices a puddle of coffee and a stainless steel mug rolling on the floor. He pales, dropping to his knees, "Nooooooooooo~! I dropped my coffee!"

"What—oh," Akashi says once he realizes what just happened. "Wait here, I'll go get a ragged cloth."

"Noooooo~ my precious coffee! My precious coffee is all spilled. The floor drank my precious coffee. How am I supposed to live now? I can't live without my coffee—" and Akaashi has to suffer listening to his wailing until he makes another coffee for him.

 

 

 

 

 

There's a job that requires Akaashi to be away for a few days.

"I don't know how long I'll be gone, so I restocked the supplies for a week," Akaashi tells him, shouldering his camp bag. "Everything is in the cupboard—instant noodles, porridge, coffee. Have some real food too so you don't get sick. Leave your clothes in the hamper, I'll do the laundry when I get home. If you're out of clothes, you can borrow mine, and—"

"I'll be fine," the assassin interrupts him. "I'd been here before you came home, remember?"

He lets out a breath that he doesn't realize he's been holding in. "Yeah. I'm just. I'm going, then." Akaashi goes to the door, opens it, and pauses, "Oh, if your mission is complete before then, just…"

"I'll welcome you home with instant coffee!" he says, with two thumbs-up and a wide, brilliant smile it's blinding.

Akaashi stares at him in surprise and then returns it with a small smile of his own.

 

 

 

 

 

The journey is uneventful. After getting off the train, Akaashi goes to the motel he booked a day prior before meeting his tour guide. In the room, he checks his equipment one last time just to be sure.

Clicking the next button, Akaashi suddenly is staring at the perfect copy of himself; stunned but it's him alright. Then he remembers it's the picture the assassin took and begins to skim through the rest.

True, most of them are blurry. He finds one that nearly perfect, but it's rough around the edges like the lens hadn't been given enough time to focus. The lighting is bad since it appears that the source of light is obscured by someone. The angle is off and some part of his face is covered by his hand that's all blurry as if in a motion. Akaashi thinks the picture was taken when he was pinned on the couch and he'd been trying to retrieve the camera from the assassin's clutch.

It's undeniably a proof of an amateur work. But the smile captured in the picture is… beautiful. It makes the picture alive. Akaashi hasn't had slightest that he could make that expression.

Then he realizes—there isn't a picture of the assassin at all.

 

 

 

 

 

The view is magnificent. The sky is clear and blue, cut open by the branches above. The river shimmers in the sunlight. Rocks are scattered along the stream. Not far from his spot, Akaashi sees a bird resting on a stone.

He grabs his camera, aims carefully, and presses the button. The bird flies away as soon as the shutter clicks shut. Akaashi sighs as the bird soars high in the sky.

Akaashi thinks about his loud laugh. Akaashi thinks about his brilliant smile. Akaashi thinks about his sparkling eyes. Akaashi thinks about—

The view is so amazing that he wants to share this view with him, in person.

 

 

 

 

 

He finishes his job as soon as possible. Instead of processing the pictures at the motel, Akaashi goes back home. If Hinata saw him, Hinata would've said he was skipping. Akaashi chalks it up to missing the comfort of his bed even though he knows he's lying to himself.

The apartment is dark when he's finally home. It brings a shudder down his spine, recalling their first meeting.

"I'm home," Akaashi calls out.

There's no reply.

"I'm home," he tries again, flicking on the switch.

The apartment is bright but there's no sign of the assassin anywhere. Akaashi drops his bag on the couch, eyes scanning the living room. He spots a black bag belongs to the assassin on the floor by the coffee table. It looks like it's been yanked open in rush and left in the exact state. Something tugs at his chest at the sight.

Worried, Akaashi checks every room; the bathroom, the spare room, his bedroom, the kitchen but he can't find the assassin anywhere. He even looks for a note or something that was left by the assassin for some hint. There's none to be found.

"There's no way he could've left already. His bag is still here," he mutters to reassure himself. The thought of the assassin breaking his promise is too much even for his rational mind.

"Maybe he's going out to reload his ammo or something," he tries again despite his trembling hands. "Maybe he got bored and went out for a walk. Maybe he went out to buy some food. Maybe he went out for a jog. Maybe he…"

And he continues listing down possibilities to prevent his heart from shattering. And he continues doing that until he falls asleep on the couch.

When morning dawns, he's still alone.

 

 

 

 

 

Akaashi tries asking around the neighborhood.

Since he has no picture of him, Akaashi tries his best to describe the assassin as accurate as his memory serves him. He does that from morning until late evening, until the cashier who works at the local shop he frequents says that he looks so pale like he's going to pass out.

Actually, almost each one of them says the same thing—"you look like you're going to pass out"—and nothing more. Nothing about the assassin. No one has seen him. It's like he only exists in Akaashi's mind.

That evening, he goes back to his dark apartment, alone and frustrated.

 

 

 

 

 

He makes coffee for two.

Akaashi takes one to his bedroom and starts processing the pictures from his last job. He's so absorbed in his work that he hasn't realized he's been cooped in the room for hours. By the time he averts his tired from the laptop screen, the sun has slanted on the west side.

He comes out of the room. The coffee is still on the counter, untouched and cold.

 

 

 

_your relative still there? – Tsukishima_

 

Akaashi stares at the open bag on the floor, left untouched, and types back a reply.

_yeah, sorry – Akaashi_

 

It doesn't wash away the emptiness in him.

 

 

 

 

 

He's running out of milk.

Akaashi looks out of the window. It's dark out. So eerily dark that it seems advisable to stay at home and pick it up in the morning later.

He puts on his shoes, anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

At last, he finds him.

Not in the condition he'd prefer, but he finds the assassin nonetheless. He finds him curled up next to a dirty bin, under a broken street light, all bloodied and tattered.

His heart stops a beat.

Akaashi drops the milk and rushes to his side. He pulls the assassin into his lap, head resting on his thigh. He can't see well in the dark but he knows the assassin has his eyes closed still. And he knows the patch of wetness on his shirt is not sweats; too pungent and thick to be one.

"Fuck," Akaashi curses under his breath. He gives a slap on the assassin's cheek to wake him up, "C'mon. Open your eyes. Don't do this to me. Wake up."

He does that once. Twice. Thrice. And more. He does that until his palm stings. He does that until his vision is all blurry.

And then the assassin stirs.

"Thank fucking god," Akaashi says, letting out a sigh of relief. He digs into his pocket to fish his phone out while the other hand remains on the assassin's chest to feel his weak heartbeat. "I'm calling ambulance—"

"No," the assassin forces out between his broken breaths. It hurts Akaashi to watch him struggle to manage a single word. "No ambulance… no hospital."

"But—"

"Please," and clashed with those pleading eyes, Akaashi knows he's doomed for sure.

"Yes, yes, no ambulance. But we need Tsukishima." Akaashi catches the flailing arm and links their fingers together, aware of the twisted pinky and his burning body. The assassin lets out a pained whine. He bends down, his lips grazing the assassin's bleeding forehead as he whispers, "He's a doctor and friend. He's going to help you. He's going to—"

 

 

 

 

 

"Relative, huh?"

Akaashi tries not flinch at Tsukishima's tone but to no avail. He lowers his gaze on his coffee in his hands, aware of Tsukishima's calculating glare he's sending from across the table.

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

"Is he going to be alright?" Akaashi asks, his grip growing tighter around the mug.

"Well," Tsukishima starts, "He has two broken ribs and a broken pinky, a huge wound on his stomach, slashes and bruises all over his body, and a small cut on his forehead. Make sure he doesn't move much or he'll open his wound again. No trace of poison, no concussion. But he has a high fever, so keep a close eye on him for a few days. Keep him hydrated, and make sure he eats too, even if just a little."

Panic settles in his chest when Akaashi hears the long list. "Will he be alright?"

"He'll be in a lot of pain, but he'll live," Tsukishima assures him. "I put his med and dressing on the bedside table. Enough to last for two weeks if you follow the prescription. Keep the dressing from getting wet and dirty. If he hasn't broken from his fever by the end of the week, send him to the hospital."

"Ah, yes, I'll do that," he promises although it'll be meant that he's going to receive some protest from the assassin. "Thank you for your help, Tsukishima. I hope we didn't cause you any trouble."

"It's my job to save people regardless of their identity," Tsukishima shrugs. He sweeps his briefcase into his arms. "I'm going first."

Akaashi sends him to the door. "Don't forget to text me the bill and your account number."

"Told you, don't worry about it. It's my job."

"I insist."

Tsukishima looks away. "If you say so. Just… be careful. He doesn't exactly look safe."

His lips curl up ever so slightly although his heart doesn't feel warm at all. Akaashi has known all the risks he's taking from the first day he saw the assassin in his apartment.

Still. 

He says, "Yeah. Thanks," just to abate Tsukishima's worries.

 

 

 

 

 

Taking care of a sick person is one thing. Taking care of a delirious, injured assassin is a whole different story.

Bruises are starting to bloom on his right arm due to the assassin's quick reflex and unbelievable strength that never fails to catch his wrist whenever Akaashi attempts to change the wet cloth on his burning forehead.

Sometimes it gets so bad that Akaashi rasps out, "You're hurting me," when the pressure of the grip is threatening to crush his bone. Fortunately, the assassin snaps out of it, blinking at him as the grip loosens.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry…" and the assassin keeps chanting that in a broken whisper that it shatters Akaashi's heart more and more and more.

 

 

 

 

 

The assassin talks in his sleep.

Usually, it's incoherent and inaudible. Sometimes it's in a language Akaashi doesn't recognize. Sometimes it's a string of numbers. Sometimes it's a pained whine.

When that happens, Akashi would take his bandaged hand into his own and whisper nothing into the knuckles, in hopes that the assassin could sense his presence.

 

 

 

 

 

Pain means painkiller.

Painkiller means he's constantly in a hazy state.

Hazy state means he's unable to recognize Akaashi.

Unable to recognize him means enemy.

Enemy means more bruises on his arm.

Akaashi stays, anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

On the fourth day, his fever finally breaks, much to Akaashi's relief.

The assassin is slowly regaining his bearings. He can drink on his own and take more solid food. He's able to go to the bathroom without Akaashi's help despite his small steps. Color fills his skin. Recognition has slowly begun to settle in those golden-colored eyes even though they aren't as bright as before.

And that's why he's able to see the dark circles under Akaashi's eyes.

"You haven't had much sleep," the assassin says, pressing a thumb on the dark circle. His gravelly voice is a telltale sign that he hasn't fully recovered.

The touch soothes him but Akaashi pulls away, busying himself the new dressing he's planning to use to replace the old one. "It's nothing compared to you. You look like death warmed over."

"I feel like one too. Maybe I died for real at one point but was brought back when I heard your voice."

"Don't joke about that," Akaashi warns, complete with a sharp glare. The assassin seems surprised, and he sighs, "Come closer and take off your shirt. I need to replace your dressing."

Unwrapping the old dressing reveals a set of strong, abdominal muscles underneath. It feels solid under Akaashi's long fingers as he runs them to check the stitches on the wound. It appears to be a slash wound, cutting from the center of his stomach down to the jut of his left hip. It's a wonder how the assassin survives.

As much as he thinks it'd be weird, Akaashi finds it impossible to think of the assassin in a particularly sexual way at the moment, no matter how much skin he has on display. Maybe it's the wound, or maybe it's his concerns for the assassin.

Akaashi has just started wrapping the new dressing when the assassin says, "You should've left me."

It'd have riled him up if he wasn't too busy with the dressing. "Left you to die? That'd be stupid."

"I've been causing you nothing but troubles."

"Says who?" he shoots back, looking straight in the eye, and that stumps the assassin. He continues his work in silence.

Once he's finished, Akaashi gets to his feet and clears the bed. He can feel the assassin's stare boring into him as he moves. At one point, it gets under his skin, and Akaashi turns around, only to see a guilty look on the assassin's face.

Akaashi sighs. For an assassin, his guilty look is way too innocent and childish.

"Stop thinking too hard or you'll make your cut on your forehead worse," he says, and the assassin looks offended. At least, it looks better on him. "Look, I'm doing this because I care. That's all."

The assassin's gaze softens. A smile, the one he hasn't seen for days, the one he's been missing, stretches across his chapped, pale lips. "You're a real angel, Host-kun."

Akaashi turns away, feeling his cheeks grow warmer.

 

 

 

 

 

They fall into an easy routine, then.

Akaashi always finds the assassin already wide awake on the bed and his dressing been replaced. After lunch, he stays in the room to keep an eye on the assassin while working on the pictures he took from the last job. They talk about everything, anything, and nothing. At night, Akaashi retreats to the couch even though the assassin has been offering him the bed.

Obviously, things are different, then. The assassin lacks enthusiasm when he talks. He doesn't whine as much. He laughs but it isn't as loud as before. His smiles aren't as bright but they hold a deeper meaning just the same, a message that Akaashi can't decipher, and yet it gives him a flutter in his stomach.

He's different. Akaashi thinks it's because he's still recovering. So long as they follow the routine, they're going to be fine.

They're going to be fine. 

And suddenly, one morning, everything isn't fine.

The bed is empty when he enters the room. There's no black bag sitting on the floor by the table. No traces of medical equipment on the bedside table. No medical proof in the trash bin. No evident which suggests another presence in the apartment beside his.

Nothing.

Except for a thick envelope and a note underneath the coffee mug that reads;

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _sorry i've caused you so many troubles_  
>  _the money in the envelope should be able to cover everything_  
>  _i've had so much fun with you. don't stop being amazing_
> 
> _thank you for everything, akaashi_
> 
> — _Bokuto Koutarou_ _  
> p/s: instant coffee as promised. enjoy_

 

 

 

 

"Bokuto-san," he whispers. Only silence answers him.

The coffee is warm, but his heart is cold.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'ed
> 
> the title was derived from 'nevertheless, hello' by christopher goodrich
> 
> originally intended to write iwaoi, but then i remembered that iwaizumi would've kicked oikawa out of the balcony as soon as he saw him, and that'd be the end of the story
> 
> but then, oikawa was probably skilled enough to swing into another apartment, and then—oh wait


End file.
